


The Kings and the Tattoos

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [38]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arguments, Fighting in public, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Tattoos, Thranduil has a knee-jerk reaction, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:44:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin has got something that Thranduil hasn’t got: tattoos.  Because he’s an elf, Thranduil should be disgusted but, in fact, they turn him on.  Now Thorin wants the elven king to do something for him – and he’s not too keen.  In fact, he downright refuses.  Will this selfishness cause another row and can their differences be resolved?  Well, you know what usually happens in these stories, don’t you?  But, getting there can be a fun ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Tattoos

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Tattoos

 

Pt I

 

Fascination

 

They fascinated him: they really did.  Thorin had reluctantly agreed to bend over the mattress – his least favourite position – because Thranduil enjoyed it so much.  In this position, the elven king could study his tattoos in close detail.  There was a real beauty that wove across his back from shoulder to shoulder and which danced and rippled as he flexed his muscles in time with Thranduil’s thrusts.  And there was another that nearly made him come even before he touched the dwarf: it was a small one right at the base of Thorin’s spine, just before his buttocks separated.  He didn’t know why, but he only had to look at it to become hard.

 

“Did that hurt – the tattoo?” he gasped as he pushed rhythmically into the dwarf and ran a finger over the complex pattern just above his behind.

 

“A bit,” Thorin managed in reply.  But then he fell silent and gripped the coverlet as the pounding increased and the dwarf guessed that his lover was about to come.  Well, he would have to come on his own: being bent over with his face in the mattress took the edge off the fun.  He would have his turn after Thranduil had enjoyed his.  Yes, it was good to come together but, sometimes, it could be even more pleasurable to concentrate on the elf’s needs before seeing to his own.  Such focus could be quite intense and it pleased him to please his lover.

 

Thranduil finally exploded on an ecstatic sigh and the pulsating beats thrummed through Thorin’s body.  The elf’s throbbing member made Thorin feel all fuzzy inside – an intense tenderness that possessed him even though he had not come himself.  This is for you, my love, he thought.  And, as the elven king pulled out of him and collapsed onto the coverlet, Thorin climbed onto the pillow beside him.

 

“Was that good?” he murmured, stroking his partner’s cheek gently.

 

“Yes,” gasped the elf.  “Very.”  Then he nuzzled the dwarf’s throat.  “Sorry,” he continued, “for making you do that.  It was selfish of me.”

 

Thorin kissed the tip of Thranduil’s nose.  “You are now in my debt,” he said sternly.  “Who knows what I shall ask in return?”

 

The thought of this made the elf shiver with a new stirring of desire.

 

“Anything,” he replied eagerly.

 

“Well, first,” said Thorin, leaning on his elbow and playing with one of Thranduil’s nipples, “I want you to tell me why you enjoy me bending over like that so much.”

 

“So that I can see your tattoos,” replied the elf, reaching up and touching the tattooed bracelet on his arm.  “If only you could see the one across your back or the one at the base of your spine, then I think you’d understand how erotic it looks when I’m taking you from behind.”

 

Thorin grinned.  “Glad you like them so much – unusual in an elf,” he said. 

 

“Well, our sex life would be sadly lacking without them…..And there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask: I’ve noticed that there are dwarven runes intertwined with the patterns.  Am I right?”

 

“Close observation,” laughed Thorin.  “You _have_ been busy back there.  Yes, the ones across my shoulders list the battles I have fought in.”

 

“And the one near your behind?”

 

The dwarf paused for just a moment and then decided to face the consequences.  “It’s the name of someone I had a crush on when I was young.”  Then he waited for the explosion.

 

Thranduil sat up angrily.  “You mean that all the time I’ve been fucking you, I’ve been staring at the name of some lover of yours?” he spat.  “That’s enough to cool anyone’s ardour!”

 

Thorin sighed.  “Not a lover,” he said patiently, “but a handsome young man from Dale whom I admired from afar.  I mooned after him for months whilst he totally ignored me.  I had his name tattooed as a rite of passage – it was very painful, you know, and I was trying to prove something – although I’m not quite sure what or to whom.  And then my passion waned and I forgot about him.  He grew old and died a long time ago, so there’s no need to be jealous.”

 

Thranduil was not reassured.  He folded his arms and snarled: “Well, if you think I can ever get it up again while there’s another man’s name tattooed on your body, you’ve got another think coming.”

 

Thorin kissed the elf’s smooth, alabaster thigh.  “If it helps, I’ve been thinking for some time about getting that tattoo tattooed over next week when I return to Erebor so that it says something different.  How about: _Thranduil, my one and only love_?  The elven king looked slightly mollified: “It might work,” he said huffily.  “But I’m not promising anything.”

 

Laughingly, the dwarf pulled his lover back down upon the pillow and rolled on top of him.  “You can be as limp as you like for the moment,” he grinned, “because it’s my turn not yours.”  And he thrust his newly-stiffened cock into the elf with such force that his golden head banged up against the headboard.  Thranduil made no protest, but his breathing became faster and his eyelids drooped languidly with a returning passion. 

 

Thorin seized him roughly by the wrists and pinioned them above him.  Aah, sighed the elf inwardly.  He loved it when he was taken like this, when Thorin was in control and he lay helpless beneath him.  He struggled a little because it was more exciting that way but the dwarf was stronger and held him firmly in place whilst driving into him in such a way that Thranduil thought he would disappear into the mattress.

 

A sexual haze descended upon the elven king as his cock, sandwiched between two bodies, began to regain its former hardness.  Thorin was going back to Erebor the next day and he couldn’t bear to be without such intense pleasure for yet another two weeks.  It really was difficult for them both.  And he tensed and relaxed his anal muscles, urging Thorin’s cock even more deeply up his backside.

 

Thorin nearly broke the elf’s wrists, sank his strong white teeth into his shoulder and came on a deep groan that seemed to reverberate around the room.  Thranduil’s back arched ecstatically to meet the pain and he came too.  “Lucky you!” gasped Thorin.  “That means you still owe me one.”  And he snuggled into Thranduil’s neck where he immediately fell asleep whilst the elven king held him tenderly in his arms and thought about losing him on the morrow.

 

.o00o

 

Pt II

 

Suggestion

 

When Thranduil awoke the next morning, he was surprised to find the dwarf gazing down upon him with a furrowed brow: usually, he was fast asleep and became grumpy if he was urged awake, even if for some pleasure.  Thorin kissed him, then said: “I’ve been thinking.”

 

“Please, no,” exclaimed the elf in mock horror.  “Please don’t think!  It always causes trouble.”

 

The dwarf gave his lover a sharp slap on the rump.  “Just listen a moment,” he said.  “You know, after you told me about the stimulus you get from my tattoos, I began to think of a way – a dwarven way – you could increase my pleasure too.  I’ve done my bit in the past to do elven things to please you, remember, like stripping off my body hair and even shaving my beard.”

 

Thranduil looked a tad sulky that he wasn’t already a perfect stimulus just as he was.  “Well, if you expect me to grow chest hair or a beard, my love, then I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

 

“And I would find that repulsive,” laughed Thorin, stroking his smooth cheek.

 

“But, I suppose I could try to build up a more muscular body shape.”

 

“And I wouldn’t like that either,” the dwarf grinned.

 

“So, what _do_ you want?” snapped the elf.

 

Thorin hesitated.  “Umm – now don’t take this the wrong way – but – umm – I was just wondering if you could find it in yourself – er – if it would be at all possible – ahem – for you to have a small – a _very_ small – a tiny one would do, actually – a small tattoo.”  There, he had said it.

 

Thranduil sat bolt upright.  “No!” he yelled.  “I’m afraid I can’t find it in myself to have even the most tiny of tattoos.  You don’t know what you’re asking of me!  How could I ever join my companions down in the hot springs with a tattoo, for Eru’s sake!  They would probably cast me out of Mirkwood.”

 

Well, actually, Thorin did know what he was asking.  He knew that tattoos ran counter to all elven beliefs and tolerances and the fact that Thranduil was drawn to his was rather strange – weird, even.  But, this response still made him feel very sullen.  His bad temper rising, he folded his arms and muttered: “You won’t do anything for me, will you?  You’re more worried about the response of your courtiers than in my feelings.  What’s the matter?  Can’t you stand the pain?”  He added this last rather insultingly.

 

And Thranduil _was_ insulted.  He was a mighty warrior who had withstood the heat of dragon fire and yet Thorin had implied that he couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck with needles.  “Time for you to go home, I think,” he hissed to Thorin, “before we have words.”

 

 _Too late_ , thought Thorin _.  I think we’ve already had them_.  They both got dressed in silence and then Thorin said stiffly: “Well, goodbye then.”

 

“Goodbye,” replied Thranduil in equally distant tones.   “Safe journey.”  The dwarf gave him one look and then descended to the stables.

 

.o00o.

 

As soon as he heard Thorin’s horse clatter away, Thranduil knew that he had been stupid.  At the mention of him being tattooed, he had had a knee-jerk reaction.  He would do anything for Thorin.  Anything.  And that included having a tattoo.  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed both an interesting and a challenging idea.  He had breakfast in his room and then he sat down thoughtfully at his desk and drew out a piece of parchment.  He would write to Balin and ask for his advice and help.

 

.o00o.

 

A week later, a dwarven messenger came with a response.  A good-looking, middle-aged dwarf woman marched into his apartment.  “I’m the tattoo artist you asked for,” she barked.  “Name of Bris.”  She reminded him of his old sergeant-at-arms.  But, a woman!

 

In his surprise, he said this last remark out loud.  “And that’s a problem for you?” she asked sharply.

 

“Er, no,” replied the elf.  Then, more unctuously, because she would, after all, be the one standing there with the needle: “Thank you so much for coming so quickly.  I really appreciate it.”

 

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I had to fight off the competition.”

 

“Really?” asked Thranduil, feeling rather pleased.

 

“Yes,” she snorted.  “None of us has ever seen a naked elf before and we’ve been laying bets on the size of your you-know-what.”

 

Thranduil looked aghast.  “Naked!?”

 

Bris rolled her eyes.  “And how else do you think we apply the tattoos?  Feeling our way underneath a silk covering?  In the dark?  I could try it in the dark,” she mused.  “I reckon I’m skilled enough.  But don’t blame me if things go wrong.”

 

“No, no.  Anything you say,” gasped the elven king.   “You just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

 

She looked him up and down.  “So, take your clothes off, then, so we can decide where this tattoo is going to be placed.”

 

Reluctantly, Thranduil slipped off his robe and then tried to stand there nonchalantly.  She’s only like a nurse, he tried to tell himself, but it didn’t help much, especially when she stared really hard at his prick.  “I reckon I win the bet,” she said, looking rather pleased with herself.  And Thranduil squirmed.

 

“Er, I thought I might have a small one on my backside,” he muttered.  Anything to turn away from her.

 

“So, let’s see it,” she said.  And he turned around in relief.

 

She gave a dismissive snort.  “Not enough meat on that to write a monosyllabic word, let alone a sentence.  Now, our dwarven backsides…you should see them.  Big enough for an epic poem.”  And then she laughed uproariously.  “But, I suppose you know about that.”

 

Thranduil coloured up.  Did the woman have no shame?  But, when she saw the stain rising up his throat, she laughed even more raucously.  “Spare your blushes, my lord king.  What I don’t know about backsides could be written on a gnat’s wing.”  She gave his buttocks an encouraging slap.  “Turn back again, then.  Let’s see where else we could put one.”

 

The elf tried to have a professional conversation and to tell her his concerns.  “As you must know,” he said, clearing his throat, “elves don’t generally approve of tattoos.  They see them as self-mutilation.  And I was wondering if there was anywhere you could put one which wouldn’t be apparent when I strip off down at the hot springs.”

 

“Hmm,” she said, stroking her chin thoughtfully.  “How about up your arse?”

 

Thranduil gaped.  “You can do it there?!”

 

She roared with laughter again.  “Of course I can’t!  But any fool must be able to see that there’s no place where you can put a tattoo and it not be obvious once you take your clothes off.  That’s the whole point of a tattoo.  You’re making a statement – in this case about my king and your lover – and you want the world to know.”  And she shook her head at his ignorance.  What Thorin saw in him…..But each to their own, she supposed.

 

“Umm, can you tell me where one would be most painful to apply?” was his next question.

 

“What?  So you can avoid it?  And you a hardened warrior?” she asked scornfully.

 

“No, you misunderstand,” he explained quietly.  “I want it in a painful spot as a sort of – rite of passage.”

 

“Ah,” she said with a tender smile.  “So that you can prove your love for Thorin.  Now I see that you are beginning to understand what tattoos are all about.”  And she gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.  Perhaps there was more to this elven king than first met the eye.

 

There followed an interesting conversation and Thranduil suddenly realised that he had forgotten that he was standing there with no clothes on talking to a woman.  They had chosen a tattoo and where to put it and the elf thanked her graciously for all her help.  She winked at him.  “Well, we shall have to see just how grateful you are tomorrow when I set to work,” she laughed.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Trending

 

Two days later, Bris set out for Erebor once more and Thranduil came to the gate to wave her off.

 

“Good luck with your courtiers,” she said.  “If they kick you out and Thorin’s still holding you at arm’s length, you can shack up with me, if you wish.  I’m not picky.”

 

“How very kind of you,” laughed Thranduil.  “But I hope that things won’t come to that.”

 

“I’ve enjoyed making the acquaintance of an elven king,” she grinned.

 

“And I enjoyed that rather painful experience so much that I might even consider having another tattoo – just for the pleasure of your company,” he retorted.  Then he actually managed to make her blush by kissing her fingers elegantly before waving her on her way.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil waited a few days for the redness to subside and then he gritted his teeth and knew he had to face his courtiers.  He sallied forth to the practice yard, engaged in a number of bouts with a group of them and then strolled down to the hot springs to bathe as they tended to do.

 

The elf lords were chattering and laughing – until their king slid into the steamy pool beside them.  They all stared.

 

“What on earth is that, Thranduil?” drawled Glinor, a companion who had known the king for a long time and felt he had a right to speak peremptorily to him like this.

 

One young elf leaned forward to study him at close range.  “It’s a tattoo!” he gasped.

 

“No!” the group exclaimed.  And Thranduil waited for the sounds of disgust.

 

“That’s – umm – quite interesting,” murmured one.

 

“Did you get the idea from Thorin?” asked another boldly.

 

“Did it hurt?”

 

“Yes, did it hurt?  That looks like a delicate place to have it done.”

 

“Did a dwarven artist do it for you?”

 

“Are those runes?”

 

“What does it say?”

 

The questions were coming thick and fast and the group seemed merely to be expressing curiosity and fascination.

 

“Yes, does it mean something, Thranduil?” Glinor asked with an amused look in his eyes.  “Tell us what it says.”

 

Their king cleared his throat and said: “Well, it just says ‘Thorin’ actually.”

 

“Aww,” smiled the young elf, Aendir.  “That’s so romantic.”

 

“Mm,” grinned Glinor.  “Just don’t show my wife or she’ll want me to have one and just the thought makes me wince.”

 

“But, I suppose,” said Aendir excitedly, “it shows just how much you love a person, you know, to go through something like that.”

 

“My thoughts entirely,” smiled Thranduil.

 

The lively conversation continued and, by the time that they had got out of the pool and were dressed, a bemused elven king had decided that, rather than being sacked from his job for demeaning the majesty of elves, he had somehow started a fashion trend.  A couple of the youngsters were daring each other as to which of them was brave enough to have it done first whilst one or two of the older courtiers had a calculating glint in their eye as they measured the element of pain up against the perverse sexual satisfaction such a feature would give them and their lovers.  And they wondered for the first time what Thorin’s tattoos did for their king’s love life.

 

Thranduil returned to his apartment feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.  He had got over the worst hurdle and now all that lay before him was the pleasurable thought of how Thorin would react when he saw the sacrifice his lover had made for him when he returned to Erebor in a few days’ time.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Rejection?

 

It was late evening and Thranduil approached the dwarven stronghold rather apprehensively but also with a certain measure of excitement.  Ever since the tattoo had been finished, he had played the scene of his reunion with Thorin over and over again in his mind.  And it was so beautiful.  He could imagine the dwarf’s amazement, the tears, the tenderness, the wonderful love-making that ensued.  And he knew that all the pain he had gone through and the guilt he had endured because of his rejection of an important elven taboo would have been completely worth it.

 

He handed over his horse to the stable-boy and hurried up the stairs to Thorin’s apartment, wondering if the dwarf had heard the clatter of his arrival and would be waiting impatiently for him in his rooms.  He knocked quietly on the door, his heart beating loud and fast.  Hopefully, things would follow their usual course: Thorin would fling open the door, drag him inside, drowning him in kisses as he pushed him towards the bedroom.  Perhaps they would make it as far as the bed – and perhaps they wouldn’t.  But, his clothes would be ripped off and scattered upon the floor.  And then, of course, his lover would see the tattoo.

 

There would be a shocked pause and then he would gently finger it in disbelief.  “You did this for me?”  Thranduil could hear him saying it with the awe of someone who realises he is truly loved.

 

But, no-one came to open the door, so the elf tried the handle and peered into the room.  Thorin was sitting there, bowed over his desk and scratching industriously away on a sheet of parchment.  He was obviously so absorbed that he hadn’t heard the quiet knock.

 

“Thorin?” 

 

The dwarf looked up briefly.  “Oh, it’s you,” he said with a decided lack of interest.  And then he went back to his scribbling.

 

Thranduil was a bit nonplussed but pressed on.  He walked across the room and laid a gentle hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.  “Who are you writing to?” he asked, trying to sound interested.

 

“Dis,” was the curt reply.  The elven king felt a bit annoyed.  In the past two weeks, he hadn’t heard once from Thorin, yet here his partner was, wasting all their ‘together’ time on his sister!

 

He reached out and tucked the dwarf’s sweetly mussed-up hair behind his ear, feeling a certain tenderness as he did so.  The dwarf did _so_ not look after himself when he wasn’t around to brush his hair for him, to straighten his collar and to comb his beard.  But Thorin didn’t seem to notice his loving gesture and even seemed to twitch away from him a little.

 

Still in a huff, was he, after their silly squabble?  Well, once he got him into bed, all that would be forgotten.  But, the immediate problem was, how to get him there.  Thranduil stood behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders.  Thorin stiffened but then relaxed into his hands.  The elf bent and kissed the tip of his ear, made bare after he had tucked the hair behind it, and then he gently sucked it into his mouth.  Thorin stopped writing.

 

“I’m not wearing anything under this robe,” Thranduil murmured huskily.  That should get him going.  The dwarven king turned in his chair, then slid a large hand up under the silken gown, past the leather, knee-high boots to the soft warm skin above.  Then he yanked the material roughly up to the elf’s waist and stared down his length.  There was something enormously erotic about boots and silk and bare skin – especially when it was all topped off by an enormous erection – and he seized the elf’s cock and drew it into his mouth.

 

Thranduil groaned and shut his eyes whilst Thorin undid his breeches and pulled out his own stiffened member.  As the elf shuddered and began to sag at the knees, the dwarf released his lover’s cock and forced him down astride his lap so that he slid inside him.  Thranduil rode him frantically until they both came and the elven king drooped upon Thorin’s shoulder, smiling to himself at this measure of success.  The tattoo would have to wait until later.

 

But Thorin stood up and pushed him away.  “Go and lie down,” he said gruffly.  “I’ve got things to do.”  And, as Thranduil went off to the bedroom, the dwarf washed the cum off his hands in a basin and tidied himself – and then left the room.  The elf waited a bit, but then stripped off, got between the sheets and fell into a deep sleep.

 

Meanwhile, down in the dining hall, a bad-tempered Thorin was having a drink with Dwalin.

 

“You stink of sex,” laughed his friend.  “Do I take it that Thranduil has turned up?”

 

“Yes,” said his king shortly.

 

“So, what are you doing down here, then, when you should be screwing the night away?”  asked the big dwarf.  “Another row?”

 

“An ongoing one,” muttered Thorin.  “He only sees me as a sex object to satisfy his lusts, and I’m getting tired of it.”

 

Dwalin looked amused.  “So, he’s not a sex object to you, then?  You only want him for his mind?”  And he let out a snort of laughter at the thought.

 

“He just sees me and my tattoos as a tool for his arousal –and yet he will do nothing to please me,” growled the king.

 

“But didn’t you have yet another tattoo done, just this past week?”  Word got around.

 

“Yes, an alteration to one that gave Thranduil offence.  See what I do for him?”

 

“What was wrong with it and what did you alter it to?” Dwalin asked curiously.

 

Thorin hesitated.  Then: “It was the name of an old crush and the tattooist managed to overwrite it with ‘Thranduil, only Thranduil’.”

 

 _And Dwalin, when the mood takes me_ , thought his friend sadly.  But, “No wonder he was offended,” he managed to laugh.  “And has he seen it yet?”

 

“No, all he wanted was a quick hard screw the moment that he turned up.  See what I mean about being a sex object?”

 

“And what did you want the moment he turned up, hmm?” asked his friend.  “An existential conversation about life, the universe and everything?”

 

Thorin didn’t answer.

 

They sat there drinking late into the night until Dwalin nudged his king and told him it was about time he returned to Thranduil “for one of those intellectual discussions” whilst he returned to Bilbo for a “non-intellectual fuck”.  Thorin glowered.  In spite of his friend’s joshing, he was still finding it difficult to forgive his partner.  On the other hand, his prick was already hardening at the thought of climbing into bed with that beautiful body.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil awoke in the middle of the night to find Thorin pressed tightly against his back and his swollen cock sliding between his thighs.  He wriggled backwards sleepily and grunted as the dwarf thrust inside him.  It was another good fuck, admittedly, but when he woke up once more and it was light enough for his tattoo to be seen, the dwarven king had disappeared from his bed.  Thranduil felt angry and very used.  What was he?  Just a sex object for the dwarf?  A couple of quick in and outs and he was gone, without bothering to stay for a chat or a cuddle or some whispered words of love?  By now, Thranduil was steaming.  And after all that pain and trouble he had gone through with the tattoo!  At this rate, the dwarf would never even get to see it.

 

The elven king got into the bath and fumed even more as he lay there in the hot water.  When Thorin came back, it would be time for a bit of a row, no doubt about it.  And so, he got dressed and waited…..and waited.  When he hadn’t turned up by lunch time, Thranduil marched from the rooms in a towering rage and set out to find him.

 

Down in the dining hall, Thorin was pushing his food around his plate in a bit of a sulk.  He had chosen a quiet corner on his own, but he could see Dwalin and Bilbo casting looks in his direction as if they were thinking of joining him.  He held them at bay with his glares.  

 

“It does him no good to sit on his own and think like that,” whispered Dwalin to his current bedmate.

 

“Agreed,” whispered Bilbo back.  “He never was much good at thinking.  If he thinks much longer, he’ll get himself into a state.”

 

Too late.  He was already in a state.  Thorin was thinking sullenly that he had enjoyed that fuck with Thranduil last night much too much.  What hold did the elf have over him?  He was obsessed with him.  But after that row in Mirkwood when the elf had refused to have even a teeny tiny tattoo to please him, he had come sailing arrogantly into Erebor with no apology on his lips and with no breeches – just making the casual assumption that Thorin was there for the taking.   And he was, wasn’t he?  Thranduil only had to touch him – or suck his ear – and he was clay in his hands.

 

As Thorin sat there – thinking – Thranduil suddenly stormed into the hall.

 

“There you are….!” he shouted.  “…..while I kick my heels in your room and wait like a whore for you to come and service me.”  The other dwarves in the hall sat back comfortably to enjoy the fun.  There was nothing more entertaining in the whole of Erebor than the two kings having a knock-down fight, when they were so angry that they didn’t care who witnessed their argument.

 

“So,” sneered Thorin, rising to his feet, “weren’t the two thorough screws you had last night enough for you?”

 

The dwarves waited for Thranduil’s response with interest.  “A third one would have been nice,” he said with a toss of his platinum hair.  “But, perhaps you weren’t up to it.”

 

“Ooo,” whistled the audience.  An insult to dwarven stamina!

 

“Oh, I was up to it,” came the response, “but was your tender elven backside?”

 

The onlookers applauded.  Good one!

 

“I can take anything you choose to dish out,” snapped the elven king.  “But, the real question is, can you keep me satisfied?  Obviously not!”

 

The dwarves hissed.  “Come on, Thorin,” one shouted.

 

“Shall I fuck you here and now, over the table?” growled Thorin.  “Then everyone will see if I’m up to it or not.”

 

There was another round of applause as some of them wondered if they were really going to witness one king fuck another.  Dwalin rolled his eyes at their folly.  Bilbo shoved a lettuce leaf in his mouth to cool his excitement at the thought.

 

“Or shall I fuck you,” retorted the elf, “just to show I can get it up even with another man’s name tattooed on your backside?”

 

Thorin snorted.  Then he turned around and yanked down his breeches.  “What man’s name?” he asked.   And his audience goggled at the nakedness of their king.  Could things get any better?  Yes, it could.

 

Thranduil could see that the tattoo was larger and different.  He rightly assumed that the dwarven king had had it changed, just as he had promised.  But, instead of being mollified, or even pleased, it seemed that Thorin had ‘cheated’ in order to win a point.  Well, he could cheat too.

 

He pulled himself up to his full, elegant height.  Then he placed his hands on the collar of his robe and ripped it open down the front.  An amazed hush fell upon the room.  Dwalin rose to his feet, his mouth open on a gasp.  Unbelievable.  Thorin stood like one turned to stone.  “Is that real?” he finally asked.

 

Bris stepped quietly out of the stunned crowd.  “It’s real,” she said, “because I did it.”

 

The crowd suddenly burst into thunderous applause.  Cries of, “Bravo!” and, “Well done!” echoed around the room.  Thorin stepped forward and stared hard at Thranduil’s right nipple.  A beautiful pattern, entwining dwarven runes, circled the nipple, tattooed into the areola.  Thorin winced when he thought how much it must have hurt.  “Does that say ‘Thorin’?” he asked quietly.

 

The elven king looked vaguely embarrassed.  “Umm, not quite,” he replied.  “It actually says ‘Thorin’s’.”

 

The crowd looked at each other and sighed.  How lovely was that?

 

Thorin was feeling emotional.  He reached out and touched the tattoo.  “That must have hurt.  Why have it done there?”

 

“Because I knew it would hurt,” was the reply.

 

Another sigh ran through the crowd.

 

The dwarven king bent forward and kissed the nipple tenderly.  “I want to fuck you right now,” he murmured, his voice catching in his throat.

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!  Get a room!” shouted Dwalin. 

 

“Spoil sport,” muttered Bilbo.

 

But a peal of laughter rang out and the dwarves clapped as their king dragged his lover from the hall.

 

An hour later, Thorin had already given the elf a good seeing to.  And now he was having a jolly good suck: his ear, his cock and that wonderful nipple.  It belonged to him – the tattoo said so.  He drew it into his mouth and couldn’t stop.  Their cocks throbbed against each other and then they both came together.  Wonderful!  Thorin laughingly smeared the cum all over Thranduil’s chest and the two of them collapsed back on the pillows.

 

“Thank you!  Thank you so much!  I can’t tell you what that tattoo means to me.”  And the tears came to his eyes.

 

“It’s because I love you,” said Thranduil softly, gathering the sobbing dwarf to his breast.  “And you showed your love when you changed that tattoo for me.  We must be the two luckiest creatures in all of Middle-earth and I thank Eru every day that we have found each other.”

 

And then they kissed and went to sleep in each other’s arms.

 

.o00o.

 

**Aww.  Wasn’t that lovely?  But I hope you had a good laugh along the way!  They’re unbelievable, aren’t they?**

**That was my 38 th Thorinduil story and I have had a good time writing them.  Hope you have managed to plough through them all and have had an equally good time reading them.  Let me know if they have given you pleasure because, knowing I have brought a bit of fun into someone’s day encourages me to write a few more.  Scratching my head for an idea at the moment!**

**I’m off to see Richard Armitage’s new film, _Urban and the Shed Crew_ , in Leeds on Saturday at a film festival.  I’m lucky that I live quite near and managed to get some tickets.  Who knows, even though it’s not about T&T, it still might give me some ideas.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


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